Senior Living Story: Abuse Allegations

“Well? What did you find out?” Lois demanded.

I looked up from my computer as the wife of one of my residents burst into my office without so much as a pause at the door. What the hell do you think you're doing? must have been written all over my face because she stopped in her in her tracks, just a few steps inside the threshold. 

“Uhh, sure Lois. I’d be glad to give you an update,” I said. “But first, why don’t we try that knock at the door one more time.” I twirled one finger in a circle, then pointed back out the way she'd come. It wasn’t the first time we'd had a conversation about her barging into my office. Lois turned on her heel, retreated back out the door, and knocked. 

“Please, come in,” I said, motioning to a chair. 

Lois hurried across the floor, red hair flying behind her, and dropped into an open seat. Her hands clasped anxiously in her lap. “So, what did you find out? Why haven’t I gotten a call from you? It’s been two whole days!”  

“That’s right,” I said with a nod. “It’s only been two days. And, unfortunately, I'm working with a very loose timeline for when the alleged abuse would have happened, so I have to interview everyone who's worked with your husband in the last couple weeks. It takes time to collect statements from that many potential witnesses - especially when many of them have other jobs, are in school, or are night-shift workers who are not even awake during business hours.”

Lois fidgeted in her seat. “Well, when do you expect to be finished?”

“Hopefully, tomorrow. Next day, at the latest,” I said. “Believe me - I’m not trying to drag this out. I have an accused party on suspension, waiting for this to be resolved. And, I'm on deadline to submit findings to the State.”

“Well, what do you think will be the outcome?” Lois pressed. 

I ran a hand through my hair and took a breath, already knowing she wouldn’t be pleased with my answer. “Well, based on what I’ve gathered so far - from multiple witnesses, from nursing notes, and from an interview with your husband - there doesn’t appear to be evidence of sexual abuse.”

“How can you say that?!” Lois leapt to her feet. “What kind of person would shave another man? John told me the caregiver was ‘playing with him!’”

“I get it,” I said, cringing slightly at how bad it all sounded. “But no one who’s worked with Anthony has ever witnessed anything that wasn’t completely above-board. All of my staff have passed pre-hire background checks, and by all standards he's a good employee. The explanation I gathered is that the shave was meant to help with cleanliness, related to John’s incontinence.” (I chose not to get into the weeds with the details provided by several other caregivers, describing how John repeatedly removed his adult diaper without telling anyone, and that his exposed pubic hair was so long it was getting caught in his zipper, causing him to tug at his crotch all day.) 

“But why would John say he was “playing with him?’” she insisted, dropping back into her seat.

I shrugged. “Honestly, I think it could be one of two things. John could be accurately reporting what happened - which is what I’m trying to get to the bottom of. Or, he could have been confused and mistaken 'washing' for 'playing' while getting cleaned up after an accident."

Lois looked at me as if to say, Are you insane?

“The problem is, John’s dementia makes him an unreliable reporter," I continued. "Sometimes, he swears you’ve been in to visit on days when you haven’t. He reports not having been bathed when I have documentation stating otherwise - even on days when I’ve bathed him, personally. John gets particularly confused at night. When he’s tired he gets disoriented - he even hallucinates. Given the circumstances, it's possible that what John reported is not what actually happened.”

Lois seethed at me from her chair. “I think you’re ignoring one crucial piece of information, here.”

I folded my hands on the desktop in front of me. “What’s that?”

“You know,” she said, squinting her already beady eyes. The next few words came out of her mouth on pin-points. “Your night aid is a homosexual. How can you say my husband’s memory is wrong when he told me that man was playing with him and when you can see for yourself that he shaved him?! And, you know that he’s gay!”

My eyes narrowed at her. “Because being gay doesn’t make someone a sexual predator, Lois," I said, frankly. “And because John’s memory impairment IS a factor. He’s not a reliable reporter. And because, I’ve never had a complaint against this employee and have NO concrete evidence to support an abuse claim. Everything I’ve collected suggests a perfectly plausible explanation. And I am not going to ruin someone’s reputation or career over unfounded suspicions and personal bias.” 

Lois stared at me, quiet for the moment, but I could see her wheels turning. The truth was that I couldn't know with 100% certainty what'd happened between Anthony and John without having been there, myself. However unlikely it seemed that a twenty-eight year old man would be sexually interested in a seventy-three year old - nothing was impossible.

But that “shave” was a hack-job, at best, I thought. No shaping, no precision, and it was still left pretty long. This wasn't some meticulously groomed labor of love, it was an in-a-hurry trim. I ignored the dialogue in my head and made more professional words come out of my mouth.

“If I find anything that substantiates abuse, we’ll take it from there, but you asked what I think, based on what I’ve found out so far, and this is it. And," I raised my brows at her, "unless some new information comes to light - full disclosure - this employee will be reinstated to his position.” Lois opened her mouth to speak but I held up a hand for her to wait. “What I can do is make a note that John prefers only female aides. I don’t think it would be a bad idea for everyone to have a little distance, given the current tension. And really, I don’t want John to be uncomfortable.” That was true. Compassion warmed the temperature of my words, again. “But understand, this is not a promise that John will never have contact with Anthony or any of the other male caregivers. We'll do our best, but staffing shortages happen. Emergencies happen. Every member of this team is expected to pivot in order to help out and meet the needs of the community as a whole.”

Lois crossed her arms and glowered at me. “Well, I don’t know if I can continue to keep him here,” she said, at last. “This just doesn’t feel safe anymore.”

“You certainly have every right to move your husband, if you choose to." My hands remained neatly folded in front of me as I held her gaze. 

Lois shifted in her seat, looking disappointed at the lack of reaction. Then, I watched as the work involved in finding another place for her husband to live - not to mention actually moving him - seemed to land in her features. She downgraded to a lesser threat and shook her red curls. “Well, I’m going to need to put a camera in that room.” 

“You can do that,” I said with a nod. “You'll just need to post a sign outside his door. I can send you the language of what it should say.”

Her mouth dropped open, slightly. “Why on earth would I do that? Posting a sign defeats the whole point!”

My head cocked to one side. “Actually, the point is to prevent any future altercations, which posted notice would certainly help to accomplish. But also, it’s a company policy." The canned response rolled off my tongue with ease. "And further, it’s illegal to record someone in a private residence without notice or consent in the state of Illinois.”

A few days later, Anthony was reinstated to his position with backpay. John continued his residency with primarily female care staff, and Lois set up a camera in his room with signage posted at the door. IDPH raised no concerns with the findings of my report or with the thoroughness of the investigation. There were no future incidences involving Anthony and any other residents - including John.

These are the types of situations, over the years, that have given me the courage to disagree with doctors, VP's, and even C-Suite Executives - not to mention speaking out against "group-think." There have been times when it's been too much - when I've succumbed to the weight of someone's job title or to the gravitational pull of a social group - but this exactly why I admire people who think for themselves so much. Because, it is brave to question the perspectives of others - especially when you’re outnumbered, outranked, or just plain being pressured. It takes courage to trust your own internal compass instead of allowing the world around you to decide on your behalf. It requires awareness and deliberate action to step back and discern, “What do I actually know? What do I think about it?” Expertise can be wrong. Trusted friends and family can be wrong. And, there are a lot of people in the world who will pedal opinions as fact and assumptions as truth.

Myself, I'd rather follow my instincts and be wrong, than rely on the opinions of others, knowing it conflicts with my instincts, and then be wrong. At least by not farming out my opinions and decisions I will not have betrayed myself. I'm not always right - nobody is - but something else I've learned is that, more often than not, my instincts are pretty spot-on.

Names and other identifying details have been changed or omitted in order to protect the privacy of individuals referenced in these stories.